


Something Like Fate

by Astre_Red



Series: Falling (Into The Unknown) [2]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Spoilers for the Manga
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astre_Red/pseuds/Astre_Red
Summary: Azzy breathed deeply, and wondered why it had to be this universe she was reborn in.“Mom, I think I'm not supposed to exist.”
Series: Falling (Into The Unknown) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723396
Comments: 122
Kudos: 488
Collections: Reincarnation and Transmigration





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, this fic follows the manga and not the anime. Enjoy !

Margaret Murphy had always been such a good maid, never breaking any rules and following her master's orders as one would follow the Queen's orders. She had been educated as much as a person of her sex and social status could have been, and she got along rather well with the others maids. She was one of the youngest, but she had been working at the Denholm Manor for longer than most. She had pratically been raised here.

Her pregnancy came as a shock to everyone.

Margaret refused to explain what happened, even when her master ordered her. They asked her if she has been hurt, that they could help if this was the case. They asked her who was the father. She smiled a mysterious smile.

“No one.” she said, and there was laughter and despair in her voice.

Despite everyone's insistence, her lips stayed tightly closed, and nothing came out as how and why it happened. Margaret stayed at the manor even as rumors and harsh criticals were whispered in town, and the baby grew in her belly, slowly but surely.

When the child, a girl, breathed for the first time, Margaret smiled through her tears and whispered her name under the wide-eyed maids. She laughed at their shock, and hugged her baby girl.

Azrael Murphy is born in 1873, daughter of a poor but happy maid. Her father is unknown.

* * *

Azzy knew who she was since as long she could remember.

There had never been a click, a shock or a realization as to how she could still be alive when she remembered clearly the feeling of being stabbed multiple times in the back.

She had died young, at least in her time. That was sad, but it happened, and Azzy had always been one to look at the bright side. But even she couldn't find it in herself to be happy after being murdered before reaching thirty.

Being reborn -in the past at that- was unexpected.

It may have been shock, but in the first few years of her new life she just... existed. She never cried except when she was hungry and even then, she was strangely quiet. It freaked out many people, but not her mother.

Azzy stayed out of everyone's way, and only interacted with a few maids who were her new mother's friend. She looked a lot like her, with her brown hair and pale skin, except that her eyes were a strange reddish brown that made others uneasy.

“Don't worry, sweetie.” Margaret had said when one of the gardeners frowned at her. “They just don't understand.”

_Do you ?_ Azzy wanted to ask. Her mother had never been bothered by her child's strange behavior, and she often wondered if her mother already knew that this was not her first life, or if she was just an amazing parent. Margaret Murphy was the best mother she could have asked for, and Azzy knew how lucky she was to have such an understanding parent in this century.

Azzy adapted rather quickly at her new life and tried with mixed results to blend in. She couldn't bring herself to be a stupidly cheerful kid, but she tried to act as a shy and precocious girl who loved flowers. It worked for the most part, even though learning to write and read english again was irritating. Specifically, old english was irritating, and her angry pout made her mother laugh and the servants sigh in relief.

It wasn't until she reached six years old that she understood that the past she was reborn in wasn't hers.

It started as a normal day. She was simply sitting in a corner of the kitchen under the cook Robert's eyes while her mother was busy cleaning the library.

And then-

“Have you heard ? Earl Phantomhive is hosting a party at his manor. I heard that Master Denholm was invited.”

“Really ?! How lucky ! I wonder if...”

“Earl what ?”

The words escaped Azzy before she could stop them, and she felt numb. The woman who was talking to the cook flinched under her inquisitive stare, and sent her a glare. But Robert met her reddish eyes with a smile.

“Earl Vincent Phantomhive. He is a noble admired by many people, and Master Denholm has always wanted to meet him.”

“M. Robert ! You shouldn't tell these things to this frea- kid !”

The cook glared at her, and she shrinked under his gaze, but Azzy wasn't listening. She felt numb.

_Phantomhive_. She knew this name. She knew it should not exist.

The Queen's Watchdog. The twins, the demon, the reapers.

_(The Phantomhives were attacked-_

_The Earl is back-_

_Don't you think it's the best animal weapon-_

_Surely, your soul will be delicious-_

_You're not human, right-_

_The Head of the House Phantomhive is none other than I-_

_I couldn't bear to lose any more Phantomhives-_

_Why ?)_

Discreetly, Azzy slipped away, unseen by the bickering cooks. She walked towards the library until she saw her mother's back dusting an old chair in the equally old library. She ignored the others maids's curious and wary glances and ran towards her.

“Azrael ?” Margaret asked, worried, but she did not answer despite how she hated to hear her full name.

“Mom.” she whispered, and her mother glanced at her colleagues before swiftly taking her in her arms.

“Murphy-” one of them called but she was ignored. They got out of the building and sat in the garden, hidden behind a tree. Her mother brushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear, and patted her head.

“Azrael ?” she asked again, and when her daughter failed to answer, her frown deepened “Sweetheart, what is wrong ? Did something happen ?”

But Azzy couldn't explain it with words, and instead buried her face in her mother's shoulder. After several minutes of silence, she whispered.

“Mom, I think I'm not supposed to exist.”

Margaret froze, and she looked at her child. Her blue eyes hardened, and she hugged her daughter tightly.

“Don't think like that. Don't let anyone or anything decide your worth. You deserve to be here as much as anyone. Do you understand, Azrael ?”

There was something in her voice, almost like panic, but Azzy didn't care. She closed her eyes and cursed this life. Vaguely, she wondered.

_What am I supposed to do ?_


	2. Chapter 2

Azzy blamed most of the weird things happening to her on her past memories. She was smarter than average by a lot, and if she remarked details unnoticed by the adults themselves- well, she was techincally an adult too, so it was no big deal.

But then there were things a little harder to explain.

For example, that time where she fell of a tree and got up with no injuries even though there was blood on her knees, or that time where she put her hand too near the fire and should have gotten burn, but didn't feel anything. Or even these numerous times where she sensed the servants coming towards her before seeing them. Or that time where she stayed under water in the bath way longer than she should have ever been able to.

So, she had her doubts for some time. But the truth still came as a shock.

She had always known that Lord Denholm didn't like her. He didn't hate her, but he still avoided her when he could, and smiled tightly when he saw her. That was the reason why Azzy had been kept outside the manor and in the garden a lot.

But everything came to a stop on the Christmas of 1880.

Actually, Azzy didn't know what had set the noble off. She wasn't even doing anything special. She was just hiding behind a chair when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm and turned to his startled butler.

“I don't want this child here. Make her go outside.”

“But sire,” the butler -Davies, a man in his fourties- protested softly, “It is snowing heavily. I cannot let a little child-”

“This is no child ! Take her outside !”

An horrible silence fell, and Azzy tried to ignore the growing pain in her arm and glanced at the others servants. They were all watching wide-eyed, some looking stupefied and disapproving while others were hiding a smirk.

No one moved for a moment, and Denholm violently pushed her towards Davies. The butler caught her gently, and Azzy met the noble's angry eyes.

“Take her outside !”

“You will do no such thing !”

Margaret came running from where she had been decorating the corridor, her uniform dusty and her face livid. She glared at her master and almost spat.

“Why would you do such thing ? She hasn't done anything !”

“You weren't even there-”

They weren't screaming, not really, but Azzy knew that the simple fact that her mother dared to talk back to Denholm was really bad. Her throat felt tight, and behind her the fire slowly sparkled, a bit too bright.

“She was perfectly fine outside before, why not now ?”

“It is far too cold right now-”

“I'm sure _this child_ can take it-”

Their voices were raising, and Azzy gripped Davies's arm.

The fire was sparkling. The maids were looking uneasy. Something was growing in Azzy, and it felt a little bit like hatred.

“Azrael has always been perfectly ni-”

Margaret fell to the floor, and Azzy blinked. Denholm's hand was still raised even after the hit was done, his face twisted with rage.

“DO NOT CALL IT BY ITS NAME !”

Azzy screamed just as the fireplace wall caught fire far too quickly to be natural. She ignored the yells and ran towards her mother.

Margaret blinked, and paled when her eyes crossed her daughter's. She hastily got up and took her in her arms. Around them, the fire grew a strange shade of red as the servants ran away screaming. They both turned towards Denholm, whose face had became an unhealthy shade of white.

His eyes fell on Azzy, and he collapsed.

“The Devil's child.” he whispered, and took his face in his hands “Oh Margaret, why ?”

The woman stayed silent, eyes empty, and Azzy felt her heart stop.

“Mom ?” she asked, and it seemed to bring her back to reality. She smiled at her, and glared at Denholm.

“This child is as pure as any human one. She is my child, and no one else.”

Margaret turned her back and ran, her child still in her arms.

* * *

“Mom.”

Azzy wrapped her blanket tighter around her as the carriage shook. It wasn't much, but it was more than anything.

This was not how she had pictured Christmas to go.

Beside her, Margaret sighed. She looked tired, but also strangely relieved, like a weight had finally been lift from her shoulders. She breathed easier. Azzy felt bad for breaking her from this peaceful state, but she had to know.

“Mom. I'm not really human, am I ?”

Margaret froze, and closed her eyes. She looked terribly young, and yet so old.

“You're only seven, Azrael. Are you sure you want to know ?”

_I already do_. She suspected for a long time. In this world of reapers and demons, it didn't take a genius to understand what was happening to her. There were too many things, and Denholm's words had just confirmed a long thought she had hoped to be wrong.

_The Devil's child._

“My father wasn't human, right ?”

Margaret breathed deeply, and looked at her daugther. She smiled.

“Your eyes glow sometimes.” she said, and Azzy blinked, “When you were a baby they were almost always glowing, like rubies. It got better when you grew up, but it still happened, like when you fell from that tree and healed so quickly.”

She paused, and softly patted the child's head. Her blue eyes were shining with unshed tears, but she still smiled lovingly at her daughter.

“When you set the manor on fire, they were glowing the brightest red I have ever seen, and your pupils were dilated like a cat. That's when I knew we couldn't stay here anymore.”

Azzy blinked, and tried not to throw up.

Of course. It wasn't enough that she was reborn in a manga, no. She had to be reborn as the worst creature possible, the one literally everyone hated, causing nothing but trouble and despair to her own mother.

_I'm half-demon._ She thought, and buried her head in her hands. Margaret hugged her and caressed her hair. Azzy wanted to ask many questions, but this wasn't the time. Instead she forced herself to look at her mother and said.

“You'll explain it one day, won't you ?”

Margaret looked surprised that she wasn't asking more questions, but smiled brightly.

“Of course dear. I promise.”

They looked at the road a moment, thoughtful.

“Why London ?” Azzy asked, tired. Margaret hummed softly.

“I have a friend here that offered me a job at his clinic after he heard about the fire. He already gave us an appartment, and I'll repay him with working. Don't worry,” she added when she caught the girl's desperate gaze, “London is a great town, even though it will be a strange change. We'll get used to it.”

_It's not what I'm worried about._ There were thousand of reasons as to why Azzy wanted to avoid London at all costs, but she couldn't tell it to her mother, not when she was the reason they had to leave so suddenly.

_I'm getting dragged into the plot, am I not ?_

Azzy sighed heavily. Hopefully she'll be able to avoid any unfortunate encounters.

Right ?


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor Christopher Reeve was, decided Azzy upon meeting him, a rather strange man.

He didn't act weirdly, and was dressed as properly as a noble should. He looked a bit old, in his fifties or even sixties, his hair white with a bit of gray, and his eyes were a brown so dark it seemed black. He was friendly and offered her a candy when they arrived at the clinic late at night, far later than the hour destined. Margaret apologised, but he waved off her worries.

“I'm so happy to see you again, Maggie ! You've grown a lot since I last saw you before you left for Denholm. You were still a little girl back then !”

There was something strange, bitter maybe, in his tone, and Margaret smiled softly. It was obvious that they knew each other very well despite their difference in social status, but Azzy had never heard of him before. She sent her mother a questionning glance, but she was ignored.

“I'm sorry for being so sudden.” Margaret said, “If you'd be so kind as to give us directions towards the appartment, we'll be out of your hair soon.”

Reeve frowned at that.

“Don't be silly, my dear. You're always welcome here, and it's not like this clinic is crowded. Best if you and your child sleep here this night, and I'll accompany you in the morning. Don't you agree ?”

Margaret's brows furrowed, and she glanced at Azzy. It took her a few seconds to understand that her mother was worried about her, and longer to remember why.

_She's wondering how I'm taking everything._ She thought, and felt a wave of warmth for her mother. She still felt numb after the revelation of what she was, and a normal child would probably be traumatised by this truth coming so soon after the fire. But Azzy wasn't a normal child.

She took her mother's hand and gave it a squeeze. Margaret frowned, but turned towards the doctor.

“Then, we'll gladly accept if you really do not mind.”

“Great ! I shall lead you to your rooms-”

“No need, Azrael and I will share. I'd rather not leave her alone after what happened.”

Reeve paused, and glanced at her before nodding, looking sympathetic. He smiled at them, but there was a curious glint in his dark eyes.

“Strange name you chose, Maggie, but a beautiful one I'll admit. How old are you, little miss ?” he asked Azzy, who startled at being spoken to.

“Seven, sire.” she said politely, and hoped her irritation didn't show. Reeve laughed.

“Definitely your child, Maggie. She has your looks, and she's as polite as you ! I'm glad.”

He glanced at her again, seeming a bit perplex, but started walking towards the stairs.

The clinic was an old building made of dark stones and composed of three floors. The first one was for the patients who only needed to stay a few days, and the second for the ones who stayed for a week or longer. The last one was the smallest, and were resided the fews workers who slept here at night.

“Right now there's only Lydia Smith -she works with children- since there's almost no one at this time of the year.” Reeve said once they attained the last step, “But in spring and summer, some others stay over night. Your appartment isn't that far away, but I'll let you choose if you want to stay later on. There's always rooms free anyway. Oh ! And don't worry about Azrael, she can stay too if you don't wan't her alone at home.”

“It's Azzy.” she mumbled, but her mother patted her head and answered the man.

“That's awfully generous of you, Doctor, but we'll probably stay at our appartment.”

“As you wish, Maggie.”

He opened a door, and Azzy peeked inside. It was a good room, though rather dull with its empty walls, but the bed was big enough that Margaret and her could sleep next to each other without even touching, and it looked really comfortable. She could already feel her eyes closing.

“Sweetheart,” Margaret whispered, and Azzy looked up, “Doctor Reeve and I are going to talk some more. You should go to bed, alright ? It was a long road, you must sleep well. I'll join later.”

Azzy raised her eyebrows, surprised by this and the fact that her mother, while affectionate, rarely talked to her like she was an actual child. But she caught Reeve's amused and fond look and nodded.

The two left, and Azzy put her night dress and slipped into bed. She stared at the door, and hesitated. A part of her wanted to follow her mother, to learn more about the doctor and her, but another was whispering against it.

_It wouldn't be fair._ She thought, unhappy but resigned. _I can't expect her to explain me everything when I barely talk to her._

_One day_ , she promised herself, _I'll tell her- about the manga and reapers, and my memories. Or maybe just my past life ?_

Slowly, Azzy drifted to sleep.

* * *

“So who's the father ?”

“No one you'll ever know.”

Reeve frowned, and Margaret grinned and drank her tea. The doctor let out a sigh, and grambled.

“You really haven't changed, Maggie. Still as stubborn as when you were a little girl. Fine, keep your secrets. You'll have to tell me eventually.”

He paused, and his sharp eyes narrowed, thoughtful.

“But what happened at Denholm Manor ? That stupid lord liked you a lot -way too much to my liking- but you wouldn't have left simply because of that after years, and even less because of a fire. What really happened ?”

Margaret stayed silent for a long time, until she finally put her cup down. She smiled, and it was as cold as ice and as sharp as a thousand of knifes.

“He dared to try to hurt my child.” she said, and didn't add anything. It seemed enough for Reeve, who nodded knowingly.

Margaret knew that the doctor's conclusions were probably wrong, but she wasn't about to tell him that her not-quite-human child set a manor on fire at seven years old. Let the man draw his own ideas.

“How are the Phantomhives ?” she asked, more out of politeness than any real interest. “I heard that Lady Rachel had twins.”

“That she had. It was a shock, but the Earl seemed proud and happy. Or I think so at least. It's not like I see him often.”

“I thought you worked in the same circles” Margaret said, slightly confused.

“That doesn't mean we see each other daily. It's been too long since you left, Maggie, you forgot some things.”

“I suppose I did.” she admitted a bit reculantly, “The only one I saw often was Pitt. How is he by the way ?”

“As cheerful as ever. His business is blooming. You and Azrael -Azzy ?- should go there and ask for a picture. He'll be happy to see you.”

“She likes to be called Azzy. And I doubt that he will remember a mere maid like me.”

Reeve snorted, but didn't say anything. Margaret's face suddenly brightened, and she said with a cheerful voice.

“Speaking of things I've forgotten, Doctor, can I ask you one more favor ?”

“Sure.” the man sighed, “What is it ?”

Margaret's smile turned sharp.

“Would you mind teaching fencing again ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys have any theories on what happen next ? I hope you liked it !


	4. Chapter 4

The following months of 1881, several things happened.

Margaret worked at the clinic all day from monday to thursday, but took the night shift friday night before the week-end where she was free.

Azzy came with her at first, and just sat in a corner with a book, or when pushed by a few maids and docors, played with the rares sick and injured children. However, a problem soon arose in a form she hadn't been prepared to face.

On a cold evening, Azzy walked into a room and almost came nose to nose with a grim reaper.

Frankly, if it hadn't been for his eyes, she would have assumed he was simply a patient's family and that she had gotten the wrong room. But as soon she entered, her instincts were screaming, and she took a step back.

The grim reaper -one she didn't recognize, thank God- glanced at her, surprised, and Azzy very carefully didn't look back, pretending not to see him. She doubted a normal human could, and didn't want to attract his attention. She simply walked into the room, put the medecine down and fled, almost running.

_Grim Reapers_ , she thought, slightly hysteric, _of fucking course. It's a clinic, why didn't I think of that ?! They'll come for the souls, won't they ?!_

_That guy reeks of death._

The idea terrified her. Grim Reapers hated demons, and Azzy had no idea how they would react to her existence, and was under no illusin that she could defeat one.

She ran to her mother and begged her to let her stay at their apartment.

“Why ?” Margaret asked, examining her daughter's pale face, “I thought you liked the clinic.”

“I'd rather be alone at home.” she whispered, and saw worry in her mother's eyes at her unusual behavior.

“All day ?” Margaret asked, frowning, “But won't that get boring ?”

“Less than being here. And you know I can take care of myself, Mom. I'm eight.”

It sounded childish to her own ears, and she saw from the corner of her eye Lydia Smith stifling a laugh. It made Azzy angry even though she understood it. After all, most eight years old children couldn''t be trusted with anything, even less themselves.

But Margaret nodded, though her disappointed and worried eyes made Azzy feel a bit guilty.

“Very well. But I'll ask our neighbor to check on you every few hours, and if I found out you skipped a meal, the deal's off. All right sweetie ?”

“Got it.” Margaret sighed at her falsely cheerful tone, and ignored Lydia Smith's disapproving glance.

Their apartment was constitued of a bunch of rooms. It was more luxurious than Azzy had expected, and it was obvious that Doctor Reeve had paid for it. He seemed to care about Margaret far more than if she was just a girl he knew from before. It made Azzy burn with curiosity, but she kept her mouth shut. Margaret had promised to explain everything one day, and she trusted her mother.

(She was far better than her first one.)

After two days of searching the apartment from top to bottom without finding anything interesting, she considered to go outside.

_But that old guy would see me._ She thought, annoyed. Said old guy's name was Wilfred Hughes, their neighbor tasked with keeping an eye on her. He came to see her every three hours, sometimes with candies, and made sure she ate something for lunch though he let her alone the morning, usually asleep. He was nice enough, but Azzy was mentally an adult capable of taking care of herself, and being treated like a little girl felt humiliating.

_Maybe I could slip through the window_. She thought, amused. The kitchen's window opened onto a dark and abandoned alley, unseen and ignored by everyone. _The fall won't kill me, and I'd heal in no time._

This thought gave her ideas. In february, Azzy started to experiment.

She started to wake up early, and one day not long after Margaret left, entered the bathroom and ran the water in the tub until she could sit up and put her head underwater easily.

She stayed this way for almost thirty minutes before the cold made her go out. She hadn't even started to see black spots. Azzy was getting excited.

The evening, she put her hand in the fire when her mother wasn't looking. Without surprise, she didn't feel anything besides a pleasant warmth. She couldn't stay that way too long since she didn't want to attract Margaret's attention.

She started to jump and did acrobatics her past self would never have been able to. She got hurt a few times, even broke one arm once, but she'd always heal. The broken arm was still hurting in the evening through, so Azzy decided to stop experiments on this side.

She discovered that she couldn't start a fire by herself, she needed at last a small flame like a candle. It was a nasty discovery, as she almost set her home on fire -again- to try it out. That lead to a fun conversation with her mother.

“I know you're curious, love,” she said as she examined the burnt curtains, “but you need to be careful, okay ?”

“I _am_ careful.” Azzy protested, and winced when her mother raised her eyebrows.

“I'm sure you are, but it's not only about you, Azrael. What if someone had seen you ? Mr. Hughes could have come knocking and panic if he had smelled the fire. And what would you have said ? That you were playing with candles ? Even he wouldn't believe it.”

Azzy grimaced, but didn't argue, and Margaret's eyes narrowed.

“Why don't you want to go to the clinic ? Is someone bothering you ? I know that Miss Smith can be overb-”

“That's not it.”

Margaret paused, and Azzy avoided her eyes. The woman took her hands in hers and caressed them gently, forcing her daughter to glance up.

“Dear, what is it ? You can tell me. Is this about...”

She didn't finish the sentence. Azzy hesitated, and sighed. She owed her mother at last an explanation, so she mumbled.

“There's people in the clinic.”

Margaret blinked. “People ?”

“I mean-” she struggled with words she couldn't get out, and whispered “People you can't see. Not humans.”

Margaret froze, and her grip on Azzy's hands became painful.

“Did they-” she started, and there was something in her voice that scared Azzy.

“Nothing happened. I just ran. It's better if I just avoid them.” _And everyone from the story._

Margaret bit her lip, and slowly got up. She seemed troubled, and said.

“I guess we'll start early then.”

“Start what ?” Azzy asked, puzzled, and her mother grinned.

“Why, your training of course !”

Azzy gave her a blank look.

* * *

On Saturday, Margaret took Azzy to Reeve's manor, at the edge of London and relatively close to the clinic. The doctor looked surprised to see them, but didn't ask -yet- what caused them to come far earlier than supposed.

“Here.” he said, and handed Azzy a set of black clothes along a sword.

She may or may not have been gaping.

“You asked-”

“It's for your own good, Azrael. You need to learn to protect yourself. And-” Margaret added with a frown when she started to open her mouth “-setting things or people on fire isn't incuded in it.”

“Why ?” she complained, almost whining.

“Because it's not something a human can do, and therefore is only allowed in an emergency situation.”

Azzy was an adult, so she didn't pout, and reculantly followed the doctor to the training room.

It didn't take long for them to understand that fencing was not Azzy's thing.

“You need to hit back !” Reeve explained as she dodged another hit. “Stop running away !”

“I'm not running away !” she protested, “I'm just trying to live !”

Reeve was frowning, and it wasn't only due to her lack of talent. He hadn't managed to hit her once even though he was a master, and Azzy knew it wasn't normal. But it was either that or getting accidentally cut, and she didn't want to see his reaction if he saw her injury healed in a matter of seconds.

He gave up after an hour mostly spent chasing after Azzy, brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly.

“It won't do.” he said, glaring at her, “You're not even trying.”

“I am ! It's just that swords aren't my thing.”

_(He was using a sword, and he kept cutting and stabbing and **wouldn't stop-** )_

Reeve looked tired. He wasn't panting, not quite, but he breathed loudly. But Azzy wasn't tired at all. On the contrary, she felt really energetic, which didn't escape the doctor's notice.

“How are you so fast ? Your stanima is crazy ! Even Frances would be at least a bit tired afterwards....”

_Frances ?_ Azzy thought, suddenly feeling dread, but Margaret cut their conversation short.

“If you really don't like swords, I can teach you how to handle knifes. Would that be better ?”

She seemed rather determined to teach Azzy how to fight, and Reeve's eyes narrowed.

“She's still young, you know.” he said, “There's no need to rush-”

“There is.” Margaret interrupted cooly, “Azrael needs to know how to defend herself in case...”

She didn't finish her sentence, looking troubled, but Azzy knew she was thinking of the reapers running around London. She hadn't told her mother much, unsure how to explain her knowledge, but it was enough to make her wary.

Reeve was looking at them strangely, but he nodded.

“Sure, if you want.”

“So I don't have to learn fencing ?” Azzy asked and Reeve glared at her.

“You are not leaving this room until you're at least decent at it !”

_This is going to be a long day._ She thought, and felt a headache coming.

Margaret laughed.

* * *

“You look tired, Reeve. Did something happen ?”

Vincent Phantomhive smiled, and if Reeve didn't know better he would even say he looked worried. But he did know better, so he snorted.

“Just had a stubborn student this afternoon. I didn't expect it to be so difficult.”

Vncent raised an eyebrow, smile still in place. They were alone in the living room, and the Phantomhive Manor's atmosphere felt strangely heavy in the dead of winter.

“A student ? I thought you gave up teaching a long time ago.”

He was right, of course, and Reeve shrugged.

“It was a favor. My friend's kid.”

“Oh ? Who, if I may ask ?”

_Margaret Murphy's daughter_ , Reeve almost said, but something stopped him.

He didn't know what exactly. After all, it didn't matter if the Earl learned about the Murphy Family. Margaret had only been seven when she left the Phantomhive Manor, and Vincent ten. Why would he remember, or even care, about a servant's child who left so long ago ? Reeve himself wouldn't have, if Margaret hadn't been left in his care after _the incident_.

And yet, something was nagging at him, whispering, hissing.

_Do not tell him, don't talk about Murphy, not him._

So he smiled his fake and well practiced smile and said.

“No one important. Speaking of kids, how are yours ?”

The Watchdog gave him a smile just as fake, and responded cheerfully.

“They're fine, thank you. They turned five in december, if you want to know. It was very amusing, though I must admit that they are quite the excited children !”

They both laughed, and Reeve left soon after.

Vincent hummed as he walked in the corridors. He stopped and stared at a window, frowning. He wondered. There was something Reeve hadn't told him, but he didn't understand what. Nothing had happened in the underworld.

_What are you hiding from me ?_ He thought, and sighed. He'd find out soon enough.

He resumed his pacing, and a bitter thought came.

_I wish Mother was still there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's the longest chapter I ever wrote. What did you think of it ? Any theories ?


	5. Chapter 5

( _Protect her._

The Being blinked, confused, and glanced at the terrified girl. Her long brown hair were ruffled, tangled, and her wide blue eyes were filled with tears and horror as she stared at the corpse lying on the ground, unbreathing, a dagger through his chest. She couldn't see the Being, and neither could the man who was grabbing her arm and dragging her towards the failed circle.

_Protect her. Anyone, please. I'd do anything. I would die for her._

_**And you did**_ _._ The Being thought, eyes on the dead man. _**You did**_ _._

And for the Being, that was enough.)

* * *

_London, 1882_

“Where are we going?”

Azzy fiddled with her dress. It was a pretty dress, she supposed, mostly of a creamy white color with some red threads and a large red ribbon wrapped around her waist, bu tshe didn't particularly care. She had never been a fan of those, and Margaret had never forced her to wear pretty clothes like some mothers did to their daughters. Azzy had always wore pants at Denholm Manor with the excuse of playing and working in the garden. Even at the clinic, she just wore a simple black dress and, when left at home, stayed in the white dress that served as pyjamas.

(She really missed jeans. And clothes from her last life in general.)

Margaret beamed. She was also dressed with an unusual care, as she usually wore her maid dress. Her dress was quite similar to her daughter's, but she wore blue where Azzy wore red. _For our eyes_ , she had explained with a smirk.

“We're going to take a family photo!”

Azzy blinked, taken aback.

“Why? It's useless.”

Margaret frowned, and Azzy didn't know better she would say that she was pouting.

“You say that now because you're young, honey, but you'll understand once you'll be an adult. It's important to keep memories of loved ones.” she didn't notice her twitch at the word “adult”, and continued, “You never know what may happen.”

She paused and smiled at Azzy, her white hat obscuring her eyes.

“You never know when they may disappear.” she whispered, and Azzy flinched despite herself, a phantom pain in her back.

The rest of the ride passed in silence until the carriage stopped. They descended into the busy streets, Margaret leading the way to the shop.

“Are you familiar with the place?” Azzy asked, curious, and Margaret smiled.

“The owner is an acquaintance. I used to see him when I visited London and Doctor Reeve, but it's been a long time. I'm not sure he'll recognize me to be honest.”

Something twisted inside Azzy, something that felt like dread and excitement. She bit her lip, frowning.

_It can't be it, right? No way it's him. I'm just paranoid._

The door opened wide, and a young blond man with freckles smiled at them just as Azzy contained her scream.

“Hello!” Pitt, an evil noble, exclaimed, “How may I help you ladies?”

_Damn it._

* * *

“How rare of you to visit me, brother.”

Vincent pouted, sending a seemingly hurt glance at his sister. Frances glared at him, eyes cold and unwavering.

“You say that as if we never see each other. Come on, you come at the Manor every week to train Ciel!”

“Exact. _I_ come, and _you_ don't.” she snapped, “What happened ? You wouldn't have come without a reason.”

Vincent frowned, but didn't deny it. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair that Frances hated so much.

“Do you mind if I take a look at what Mother left you? Documents or pictures specifically.”

Frances tensed, eyes narrowed, and gripped tightly her cup of tea.

“Does this have anything to do with your 'work'?”

Vincent gave her a closed-lipped smile.

“Stay assured, dear sister, that it has nothing to do with the Queen. It is simply my curiosity, and my desire to know my predecessor better.”

Frances kept staring at him for a long time, but he didn't give anything away. She slowly put her cup down, still frowning, and relented.

“I'll lend them to you.” she said coldly, “But you better take care of it carefully, brother, unless you want me to remind you who is the best fighter between us.”

Vincent suppressed a shudder. “Duly noted.” His sister could be scary when she wanted to be. No matter how much she denied it, she had inherited a lot from their father.

Frances left and came back with a package full of papers. She set it on the table and turned away.

“I'll leave you to it.” she said, and turned away with one last glare.

The Earl sighed and picked a paper.

It went on for several hours, and he was almost about to give up when something suddenly caught his eye.

It was a picture, an old and dusty one, and his eyes narrowed.

Claudia Phantomhive stood tall in this picture, a baby who couldn't be more than one in her arms. Frances probably, since a little Vincent was sitting behind their mother. He was gripping her dress, looking distracted by something.

Beside his mother was a man about her age. He looked tired, and he also held a baby in his arms. A girl judging by the baby's clothes. His eyes looked unbelievely clear in the black and white picture, and Vincent wondered if their color was blue.

There was a note on the backside, and he read it multiple times before setting the picture on the table. He kept looking through the package, the note still visible next to the cold cup of tea.

_Claudia Phantomhive and James Murphy, 1854._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, sorry ! Hopefully the next one will be longer. I hope you still liked it ! So, any theories ? Tell me in the comments !


	6. Chapter 6

“Of course I remember you!”

Pitt exclaimed cheerfully as he scoured through his bag. Margaret smiled from where she was sitting on the couch, hands carefully put on her tights. Azzy, who was sitting next to her, looked at her mother. She was smiling faintly, far from the wide smile she sometimes gave to her colleagues, but it seemed far more real. It left Azzy uneasy, knowing this was caused by and evil noble.

Unaware of her musings, Pitt continued on his momentum, having found the cloth he was looking for.

“You were the girl who Doc took in! We met a few times, didn't we?”

“Indeed.” Margaret agreed with a nostalgic smile, “After my father's abrupt passing, Doctor Reeve raised me for a while. I owe him a lot.”

“Is that so?” Pitt put the cloth behind them so that the light of the day didn't pass through the window, “He was mad when you left, right ? I remember that he was often angry at one point.”

“Yes.” Margaret sighed, “He was against me leaving for Denholm Manor. He said it was far too soon for me to work, but I disagreed.”

“Well, you were young, weren't you? It's not easy to make Doc angry!” Pitt laughed and Margaret puffed.

“It was in 1866, and I was twelve, which is old enough to do a bit of cleaning! I didn't want to live with Doctor Reeve forever!”

Pitt hummed, and Azzy startled when he suddenly gave her a bouquet of red roses, still smiling. He winked and turned towards her mother.

“Why so far away from London, though? He would have agreed more easily if you were closer to him, you know.”

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Margaret seemed reserved, even uneasy. She looked down at her hands, thoughtful, before looking up with a smile Azzy recognized as fake.

“I really wanted to see the country side, and the salary was better than any in London for such a young maid. Besides, I still went in town to see Doctor, didn't I?”

Pitt blinked, taken aback by her sudden answer, before changing the subject.

“So this is your daughter, right? What's your name?” he asked, turning towards Azzy with a bright smile, “How old are you?”

“Err.” she said eloquently, “I'm Azzy Murphy... I'm nine.” she added hastily.

To her surprise, Margaret didn't correct her name. She patted her head softly, and Azzy wondered if it was her imagination or if her mother's hand was really shaking slightly.

A silence settled for a few minutes before Pitt let out a cry of joy.

“HA! I finally found it! I'm sorry for making you wait so long!”

He put the black cloth on the camera and glanced at them, smiling.

“Well then, ladies, ready?”

Azzy gripped the bouquet tightly and nodded. Margaret put her hand on her shoulder, and both turned towards the camera smiling.

“Watch the birdie!”

She had to keep herself from closing her eyes when the far too bright light flashed, far brighter than any camera was in her past life. She kept smiling until Pitt sent them a thumb-up, and immediately rubbed her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry! I know the light tends to hurt those who aren't used to it. Here,” the freelancer said, and he took the bouquet from Azzy's hands before shoving it in Margaret's arms. He grabbed something from his pocket and she blinked with surprise when he placed the small candy in her open palm, “as compensation!”

“Thank you.” She whispered, taken aback. Strawberry, she noticed faintly. She liked vanilla better, but it was still very nice. She wondered if this was from Funtom Company when she remembered that it didn't exist yet.

_He's good with children_. Azzy thought, observing the photographer. _I didn't except it from an evil noble._ Had she not been an adult, she would have trusted Pitt easily.

“Well then,” he said after chatting with Margaret, “thank you for coming! It was nice to see someone familiar. The others don't come often, you know?” he lamented with a sad sigh, “Mr Vin never comes anymore, only Mr Tanaka...”

“How sad!” Margaret interrupted hastily, but too late. Azzy had frozen behind her, heart suddenly heavy, “But I trust that Doctor Reeve comes ?”

“Oh yeah! You know he's never been a fan of all the parties at the Phantomhive Manor. We don't see him often.”

“Maybe I should tell him to visit then.” Margaret whispered with a smile, and Pitt beamed.

“Please do ! It'd be a fun surprise.”

He accompanied them until they were standing outside of the shop in the cold of march. Margaret checked her watch quickly, and nodded at him.

“The carriage should be here soon. Doctor Reeve is the one who sent it, and he's always so punctual.”

She was right. The sound of horses approached fast and soon Azzy was slowly climbing into the vehicle.

“Miss Murphy.” Pitt suddenly called. Azzy froze before realizing he was talking to her mother.

_He waited until I couldn't hear him_. She thought. But Azzy's hearing was far better than human's, and she listened keenly as Margaret looked at him.

“If you ever need me to pass a message at the Phantomhive Manor, I don't mind. I'll keep my mouth shut about you, so don't worry. I owe you that.”

“You mean you owe Doctor Reeve that.” she mumbled, and he laughed.

“I don't know what happened back then, but I trust Doc. And if he trusts you, so do I!”

Margaret didn't answer and climbed into the carriage to join her daughter. Pitt waved until they couldn't see him anymore, and a heavy silence fell.

“Mom.” Azzy called softly, and the woman turned her tired eyes towards her, “You're not a normal maid, right?”

Margaret's expression was carefully blank, and Azzy couldn't help but insist.

“You said- you said you'd tell me everything, back then. You promised.”

“I know.” Margaret whispered, and Azzy recoiled when she heard how defeated she sounded. “I know I promised, but- I'm not ready. _I'm not ready_.”

She bursted in tears.

In both of her lives, Azzy had never seen her parents cry. She never quite understood what it was like to see someone you thought invincible suddenly break down.

She watched her mother bury her head in her hands, and got to her feet trembling as the carriage shook. She circled her arms around her and started whispering words of comfort.

“It's- it's alright.. Mom, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- I'm sorry. I can wait. Please don't cry...”

Margaret cried and hugged her daughter tightly.

“Azrael.” she sobbed, and there was something in her voice, like grief and joy and love tangled together, “ _Azrael_.”

They stayed like this until the carriage arrived at their apartment.

* * *

“Ah, Mr Tanaka! How are you?”

The old man smiled at the photographer, and handed him a few papers. Pitt grabbed them and read through it quickly before whistling.

“Mr Vin really works fast, doesn't he?”

“I trust you'll be there on time.”

“Of course! I'm always up for a scoop! Specially from Mr Vin, those are always the best!”

Tanaka examined the young man with kind eyes.

“I hope you had a fructuous day?”

“That I had! Even saw a few old acquaintances.” he explained, and Tanaka hummed softly.

“Oh? Anyone I know?”

Pitt's answer came easily, but he didn't look at the servant.

“I don't believe so. And you, Mr Tanaka? I heard the twins were a lot of work!”

Tanaka let out a heavy sigh.

“They are already six, and so full of energy! An old man like me can barely keep up.”

“Somehow, I doubt it!” Pitt retorted, laughing.

They talked for a while before Tanaka left. Pitt looked at the window, and sighed.

“Something big is coming, isn't it?”

And then he laughed.

“I hope it'll be a good scoop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are confused:
> 
> 1827, James Murphy is born  
> 1830 August 5, Claudia Phantomhive is born  
> 1831, Christopher Reeve is born  
> 1837, Victoria becomes Queen  
> 1851 June 13, Vincent Phantomhive is born  
> around 1853, Francis Phantomhive is born  
> 1854, Margaret Murphy is born  
> 1859, Arthur Conan Doyle is born  
> 1861, James Murphy dies and Margaret leaves Phatomhive Manor. Reeve takes her in  
> 1861 December 14, Prince Albert dies   
> 1866 July 13, Claudia Phantomhive dies. Margaret goes to Denholm Manor  
> around 1870, Vincent meets Rachel (18) and Angelina (15)  
> around 1870, Vincent and Rachel marry each other  
> 1872, Prince Soma is born  
> 1872, Edward Midford is born  
> 1873 February 13, Azrael Murphy is born   
> 1874, Elizabeth Midford is born (Azzy 1)  
> 1875 December 14, Phantomhive Twins are born (Azzy 2)  
> 1878, Sieglinde Sullivan is born  
> 1880, December 25, Denholm Manor burn (Azzy 7)  
> March 1882, Azrael Murphy meets Pitt (Azzy 9)
> 
> I hope you liked it! Tell me what you thought in the comments!


	7. Chapter 7

Things were quite awkward now.

After Margaret's sudden breakdown, Azzy had stayed dutifully quiet and waved off her mother's attempts to excuse herself.

“It's okay, it happens. I understand.”

Margaret still looked worried and guilty, so Azzy forced herself to smile and laugh as if everything was okay, as if she wasn't an adult in a child's body in the wrong world in the wrong time. Neither were convinced.

Azzy laid awake at night, unable to sleep, haunted by cries and images of the past. Her mother's tears had awaken a memory she had desperately tried to bury, not wanting to face what was the truth. She didn't want to remember, but she had to.

Azzy breathed in her small bed, a maybe ten years old girl, and slept.

* * *

It wasn't that they didn't get along, it just that they didn't know each other anymore.

They both tried to, but she had her life, and this strange change made her uneasy, wary. Usually she didn't react like that, but something about this made her instincts recoil, and she trusted her gut.

She didn't shut off, but she kept her distance, and it didn't go unnoticed.

“Is it going badly?” her friend asked once, tea cup in hand. She hated tea, but he loved it so she reculantly accepted. This time though, he was frowning, and the tea he loved so much wasn't enough to bring a smile.

She shrugged, unsure as to how to answer. She felt heavy, and her back hurt, though she couldn't remember why.

“Isn't everything?” she answered, and his frown deepened. He looked worried, and she would have felt bad if she had the energy for it. It hurt.

“You know you can come to me if you want. I can help.”

It hurt. Why did it hurt ? She couldn't remember why.

“That's nice of you. But I want to solve this myself.” she smiled, sad and tired but determination in her eyes. “It's nothing, don't worry about it, alright?”

He smiled, and blood flowed from his eyes and mouth. He was so pale. Had he always been so pale? She couldn't quite remember. It hurt.

“If you say so” he said, blood pouring from the gash in his throat. “But call me or someone if there's a problem, okay?”

His eyes were so dull, like an ugly doll. She smiled, feeling wetness in her back. It hurt.

“What's the worst that can happen?”

* * *

Azzy woke up shaking.

She breathed deeply, because she could and needed to remember it. She breathed.

_I'm alive._ She thought, and it wasn't enough to stop her hands from trembling. _I'm alive._ She thought again, and it felt like a lie.

She got up slowly and tiptoed to the bathroom, which was far enough from her mother's room for her not to hear anything. She opened the door slowly and numbly locked it. Azzy glanced around, half-expecting someone to emerge from the shadows and assault her, and felt stupid. She was still shaking, so she sat up in front of the toilet bowl and tried not to throw up.

“Fuck.” she exhaled shakily, “ _Fuck_.”

And it had been so long since she had uttered this simple word that she almost laughed. She would have, if she didn't think it would made her vomit.

“Damn it.” she said, because she could, because she was an adult and something as simple as swearing shouldn't calm her like that. But it did, and slowly she felt like herself again.

Azzy stayed on the ground for a moment, looking at the tiling.

_My friend._ She suddenly thought. _The kind boy. What was his name?_

She couldn't remember, and buried her head into her hands to stop her sobs.

(He was using a sword, and he kept cutting and stabbing and _wouldn't stop_ -)

An hour passed, and the moon shone brightly outside. Finally, she stood up, numb, and glanced at the mirror. It was the reflection of a pale nine-year-old girl, obviously. Her eyes were a strange and bright red, red from her tears and from a blood that wasn't quite human. Slit pupils stared unflinchly, messy brown bangs hiding them from view. Azzy grabbed a lock of hair and pulled, welcoming the pain that grounded her.

_I should cut it_. She thought vaguely. _Mom wouldn't care, probably_. She had never liked long hair in her last life, and still didn't here.

_Last life_. She flinched.

Azzy went back to her room, slipped into her bed. She closed her eyes and thought about her mother. Margaret was full of mysteries, and she didn't like not knowing, but she knew what it felt like to be pushed and pushed until you felt like you had to say yes. If she insisted, she would have answers, but Margaret deserved a choice. Azzy- Azzy hadn't gotten one, back then. She couldn't do that to someone else.

She thought about Margaret and Pitt's conversation, and froze when a particular sentence flashed through her mind.

_If you ever need me to pass a message at the Phantomhive Manor, I don't mind. I'll keep my mouth shut about you, so don't worry. I owe you that._

“Oh.” Azzy whispered into the night. She blinked, and thought about twins and demons and reapers and fire. “ _Oh_.”

_That's... an idea, isn't it?_

* * *

_London, 1856_

The man slipped into the manor easily, used to walking at night by now. The cold wind brushed his face and he shivered.

A light appeared, and he froze before recognizing the one before him.

“My lady, please do not scare me like that!”

Claudia Phantomhive laughed, unbothered by her friend's glare. She was still dressed like in daylight, and he frowned.

“You're so paranoid, James. Well,” she added sofly, “I suppose you have every right to be. God knows how much I am.”

They walked together to the living room, whispering softly.

“And I told you to call me Claudia a thousand times!”

“And it is improper for a servant like me to address you in such a familiar manner, _my lady_.”

There was laughter in his voice, and she glared at him even though a fleeting smile could be seen. The rest of the walk passed in a comfortable silence until they sat at a table.

“How are the little ones?”

“As noisy as ever. You should come more often if you want to know.” she said, and he grimaced.

“I can't, my lady. I-”

Claudia waved him off.

“I know, I know. Or did you forget who asked you to do this?”

She smiled, sharp and cold, and James saw a glimpse of the Queen's Watchdog behind it. He smiled despite himself.

“So,” the Countess started, “I trust that everything has been going well?”

James nodded, and she hummed softly.

“I see. No... complications?”

“Not to worry, my lady. All is going well.”

“Good. Do keep it up.”

The man bowed and started to walk away when the woman's sudden voice stopped him.

“It would be a shame to tell Margaret that her father cannot see her until days. Make sure to come back before tomorrow evening.”

A smile “Yes, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theories ?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal is made

_June 1883, London_

“Would you stop running!?”

“Are you feeling bad, Doc? You look a little pale. It must be bad for your health to train at your age.”

Reeve glared at her and Azzy dodged his sword with frustrating ease. Angrying her teacher had become her favorite past time, although it gained her Doc and Margaret's anger. It wasn't her fault, it was just too easy to tease the old -but still great- swordsman.

Coming every saturday, and sometimes even sunday, to train at Reeve's manor had at first been a chore. Azzy had never been good at learning from others, and would rather experiment and train by herself. Her mother had however vehemently disagreed, and she had been forced to attend fencing training since two years.

As time went, she got better. She still disliked swords and ignored the adults's questions about it, but she was good at it. Not a prodigy like Elizabeth, she knew, but far better than most.

But Azzy may not have been good with swords, but she was a genius with knives.

The first time Margaret had given her a small knife, the blade too dulled to do any real damage, she had destroyed her mother.

Well, destroyed was a bit strong. Margaret hadn't been prepared and her daughter's amazing speed had taken her aback. When they had found themselves on the ground of the small meadow, far from any prying eyes, she had stared at her in shock and a strange emotion passed through her eyes.

“I think you need a better teacher.” she had whispered, and had dragged Azzy once again in front of Reeve.

She hadn't managed to beat him on her first try, but his astonishment when seeing her talent with knives had been worth it.

“A shame you're not as good with swords.” he often lamented, “You could give Frances a run for her money! Well, you still can even if you use that tableware.”

The last thing had been added with disdain, and he bought for her tenth birthday a bunch of daggers and small blades despite Margaret's disapproving glances.

“You're like, the cool uncle, Doc.” she had said, and cackled madly in front of their puzzled expressions.

But right now, Azzy was a bit worried. It hadn't been that long since they started, and Reeve already looked tired. He was always tired faster than Azzy and her insane stamina, but not that quickly.

The doctor finally stopped to attack and took a deep breath under his student's watchful gaze. He was really looking pale, and she was startled to see how old he actually looked. She often forgot that this man had pratically raised her own mother.

“I fear,” he whispered slowly, “that I overestimated my strength. Sometimes I forget that I'm no longer fighting. All those training sessions bring me back to my time with James.” he mumbled at the end, and Azzy didn't understand nor care. She was frowning, examining the old man carefully.

“You can go and rest, you know. I'll come back tomorrow once you're feeling better. ”

Reeve seemed to hesitate, but finally relented, probably the most obvious sign of his unease.

“If you need anything, ask the servants. Do you want to leave right now or wait for your mother?”

“I'll stay and wait here. Mom'll be here in no time anyway.”

He slowly nodded and Azzy watched him go, sword still in hand. She had never seen him like that before, but after two years, it was expected. The fact that, until now, none of her sessions had been delayed or cancelled was a bit of a miracle.

She sighed and turned away, ignoring the maids's questioning glances. She didn't bother to change clothes, enjoying the feeling brought by the training uniform, which was eerily reminiscent of jeans.

She walked into the garden and sat near a tree, putting her sword down, on the grass. The sun was bright, and she looked at the flowers with a smile.

_That's a lot of flowers_ , she thought, gazing at them, _but they're all beautiful_.

Azzy had always loved flowers. She smiled brightly at the proteas, carefully positioned near the entrance gate. But her smile dropped once she felt shivers on her arms.

_Someone's coming._ She thought, and looked up, eyes half closed because of the sun.

A few seconds later, she caught sight of a boy approaching her from afar, who seemed to have just left the manor. She couldn't see well with the sun blinding her, but he had blond hair cut short and was wearing the same uniform as her. He didn't look older than her, maybe even the same age.

_Is he Reeve's student too? I thought I was the only one_. She wondered, surprised and suspicious. But the boy was still walking towards her, and she didn't say anything.

The boy stopped a few feet in front of her, hesitating.

“May I sit?” he asked, and Azzy raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.” she answered, and he carefully sat next to her, putting his sword with hers. He stayed silent a moment, and she narrowed her eyes, examining him. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't decide what. He had beautiful, green-emerald eyes and pale skin. He was probably one of the prettiest boy she had ever seen, but she didn't really care.

“Is there something you wanted to ask me?” she finally asked.

The boy blushed and avoided her eyes. He seemed to gather courage to speak up, and she waited patiently until he was ready. Eventually, he looked at her.

“I saw your fight with Doctor Reeve.” he said, and Azzy blinked.

“Is that so?” she mumbled, not really seeing what he meant. The boy nodded.

“It was amazing. Even Mother couldn't have dodged all his attacks so easily.”

“Thank you?”

Again, he seemed to gather his courage. He stood up in front of a wide-eyed Azzy and bowed before speaking with determination.

“Please teach me!”

Silence.

“I- _what_?!” she exclaimed, taken aback. The boy blushed but kept his countenance firm.

“Please. I came here to train with Doctor Reeve without my parents knowing, andd he accepted, but I didn't know he still had students.”

“But I never saw you before.” Azzy protested, and he took a guilty expression.

“I usually come friday, but since I couldn't yesterday I wondered if we could train a bit today. I didn't expect someone else.”

There was admiration in his eyes, and Azzy glanced down at the carnations, unsure how to respond at this kind of inquiry. She wasn't used to this.

“You said your parents didn't know? Why?” she asked, trying to change the subject. The boy grimaced slightly and looked away.

“They think I train enough at home. But...” he trailed off, and Azzy nodded encouragely.

“I'd like to become stronger to protect my sister.” he said, fire in his eyes. “I mean-” he added hastily “-she's strong enough and doesn't need me, but I want to be by her side!”

_What a strange thing to say_. A girl strong enough to fend for herself wasn't exactly common in this era.

But Azzy could understand wanting to protect loved ones, and she bit her lip thoughtfully.

“We can train together some time if you want? It's not like I have anything planned.”

The boy beamed, and she couldn't help but smile too.

“There's a field not far from here, if you want we could go right now? Since Doctor Reeve isn't feeling well.”

He seemed excited, almost stars in his eyes, and Azzy felt strangely happy when seeing it.

But there was a nagging suspicion whispering in her mind, and she said.

“I'm Azzy Murphy. What's your name?”

His answer came easily and she couldn't decide whether to be resigned or angry. She settled on resigned and sighed.

“Edward Midford. I'm happy to meet you!”

_At least_ , she thought ruefully, _I made a friend_.

_I hope he'll be worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azzy officially interacts with a rather important character! What do you think will happen? Tell me in the comments, I love to read your theories!
> 
> 1827, James Murphy is born  
> 1830 August 5, Claudia Phantomhive is born  
> 1831, Christopher Reeve is born  
> 1837, Victoria becomes Queen  
> 1851 June 13, Vincent Phantomhive is born  
> around 1853, Francis Phantomhive is born  
> 1854, Margaret Murphy is born  
> 1861, James Murphy dies and Margaret leaves Phatomhive Manor. Reeve takes her in  
> 1861 December 14, Prince Albert dies  
> 1866 July 13, Claudia Phantomhive dies. Margaret goes to Denholm Manor  
> around 1870, Vincent meets Rachel (18) and Angelina (15)  
> around 1870, Vincent and Rachel marry each other  
> 1872, Edward Midford is born  
> 1873 February 13, Azrael Murphy is born  
> 1874, Elizabeth Midford is born (Azzy 1)  
> 1875 December 14, Phantomhive Twins are born (Azzy 2)  
> 1880, December 25, Denholm Manor burn (Azzy 7)  
> March 1882, Azrael Murphy meets Pitt (Azzy 9)  
> 1883, Side Story “That butler, nursing” / Azrael meets Edward Midford (Azzy 10, Edward 11)
> 
> (Flowers are beautiful, and have meaning, you know?)


	9. Chapter 9

Edward had always known that, compared to his family, he was ordinary.

He didn't exactly know when he realized it. Maybe it was just one year ago, when his dear little sister wiped the floor with him during her first sword fight. Maybe it was earlier, when Lizzy started to ask more after Ciel than her own big brother. That had hurt. It still did.

Actually, it may have been much earlier. Edward was smart, and he knew it. He knew that there was something about Uncle Vincent, and even his mother, that wasn't quite right. That the glances shared when Ciel and Lizzy played together, or his mother's insistence on Lizzy's training weren't normal. His father seemed to think it was, but Edward knew that -no matter how much he loved and respected him- Marquess Alexis Leon Midford was naive.

He had first thought it was normal not to talk about grandparents, but as he made friends with other children of nobles, he realized how strange it was that no one said anything about Claudia Phantomhive and her mysterious husband. How strange it was for a girl to be trained to be strong. Edward didn't think it was a bad thing, but he wondered why they were so different.

But the few times he tried to speak up, to ask about it, his mother rebuked him, sometimes with a harshness that scared him. And he wasn't close enough to his uncle to ask him, so he stayed quiet. But he didn't forget.

Edward worried. His sister was incredibly strong, like their mother, and he was proud of it. But he hadn't inherited this inhuman strength no matter how much he looked like Frances. He knew how to wield a sword just fine, but it wasn't enough, not when whatever the Phantomhives were into seemed far too dangerous to be fought with only basic swordplay. And he couldn't even rely on his cousin Ciel, who clearly didn't take things seriously.

One year passed after Lizzy's first fight, he was proud of his genius sister. She got better and better but Edward didn't. He had this horrible feeling that, no matter what he did or how hard he trained, he was just stagnating. He felt like he would never get better.

He asked Frances for more training, and while she accepted, she didn't take it as seriously as Lizzy's. She acted like Lizzy's trainings were more important than his, and while it enforced his beliefs that something was wrong, it still hurt.

So when he heard of Christopher Reeve, the man who had trained his mother, an idea started to form in his head. It was stupid maybe, but Edward was afraid and desperate and if his own mother wouldn't answer his questions and train him, then he had to find another way.

And he did, but not in the way he was expecting.

Reeve accepted to train him the fridays, and Edward started to leave his friend's house a few hours earlier so he could come in secret. He felt a bit guilty, but he was determined.

One day, Reeve seemed sickly so Edward insisted to stop, and decided to come check on his secret teacher the next day while his family was busy visiting the Phantomhives. That's when he saw her.

He didn't even realize she was a girl at first, with her short brown hair and the standard fencing uniform she was wearing. He could only watch, amazed, how she dodged Reeve's strikes without breaking a sweat in a way even Frances wouldn't be able to.

_I want to do that_. He thought, astounded. _I need to do that_.

And so the idea came.

He approached her with his heart in his throat, unsure how to ask such a favor from a stranger.

Upon close, he realized she had long bangs hiding her eyes in a way that would make Frances shriek with indignation. Her skin was really pale, paler than his, and he noticed her strange reddish eyes with surprise.

Edward gathered his courage, and asked.

And Azzy Murphy accepted.

* * *

“I think you focus too much on strength.”

They were both lying on the ground, tired. Their fight had been longer than intended, but Azzy had won thanks to her agility. Edward didn't seem disappointed by this and listened with attention. It felt strange to have someone who wasn't Margaret so focused and interested in her words, but it was great.

“How so?” he asked, and she hummed.

“Well, you rely too much on your sword for one. I mean-” she added when she caught sight of his confused and incredulous look, “-it's like you can't fight without it. If I manage to make you lose it, you can't even dodge my attacks. I think you need to start thinking how to react if you ever lose sight of your weapon and need to flee or to strike without it. Your body can be a weapon if you use it well.”

A strange silence fell, and Azzy turned towards Edward, wondering if she had said something bad or idiotic, only to find him staring at her wide-eyed.

“Amazing. You managed to see that in just a fight?”

“ _Wha_ \- I mean, it's just a guess...” she mumbled, and felt her face become beet red. But Edward didn't seem deterred by her hesitance.

“It's still impressive! I'm glad I asked your help.”

“Doc didn't- err, Doctor Reeve didn't tell you that?” she asked, surprised, and he shrugged.

“I'm usually told that I need to put more strength into it, since I'm a man.”

“That's stupid.” Azzy retorted, and he glanced at her with surprise, “Strength only won't win you a fight, you need to be smart and know when to retreat. That goes the same for men and women! People are stupid if they think otherwise.” she huffed, and Edward laughed, startled.

“I suppose so.”

Azzy frowned, and got on her feet.

“I need to leave. My mother will be there soon.”

Edward blinked, but nodded.

“Me too. If I'm not back soon they'll ask questions...” he hesitated, and said, “When can we meet again?”

“My mother works from monday to thursday during daytime, and since I don't have a chaperone anymore I can meet you when you want.”

Margaret had finally relented to give her more freedom once Azzy managed to prove that she could take care of herself, and her kind and old neighbor had left her alone. It was useful since she could now sneak out to play with fire whenever she wanted.

“Is wednesday alright? My parents are busy and my sister isn't there that day.”

There was something that looked like a pout on his face, and Azzy realized with dread that his sister -Elizabeth, genius with swords- was probably at the Phantomhive Manor if she wasn't with her brother.

Phantomhive. It still felt weird to think about it even though she knew that her mother had worked for them, and that Margaret and Reeve were almost without doubt evil nobles. It was one thing to heard of them and another to have a living character in front of her. She didn't quite realize with how young Edward looked, almost her age. He looked almost nothing like the young and righteous man she had read about a lifetime ago.

Her throat was dry, and she asked slowly, uneasy.

“You won't tell anyone about me, right?”

He seemed to sense her unease and eve though he probably didn't understand why, he nodded reassuringly.

“I won't tell a soul. We'll both be in trouble if our parents learn about our deal, right?”

“Yeah.” she answered slowly, thinking about green and blue eyes and dark smiles, “In trouble indeed.”

She waved as she left, feeling strangely numb.

_I hope this deal isn't going to bite me back._

* * *

“Azrael.”

“Hmm?”

“Come here for a moment, sweetheart. There's something I want to show you.”

Azzy looked up from the book she was reading, surprised. It was dark outside, and pretty cold for a saturday of june, but London always felt cold anyways. There was a candle on the table next to her, and sometimes Azzy took the flame in her hands and played with it when Margaret wasn't looking, trying to make it bigger or to form an animal with it. It was a bit childish, but she could control fire and adored it. She didn't want to stop.

She got up and brushed her white pyjama dress. Margaret was sitting in the kitchen, the tea kettle fuming next to her. There was a cup of -Azzy grimaced- black tea in front of her, but she wasn't paying attention to it. She was fiddling with something, and there was a frown on her face.

“Mom?” Azzy called, and she seemed to startle awake.

“Sit down, dear, just for a minute.”

Azzy obeyed, perplexed. Her mother looked at her, deep in thoughts, before smiling softly.

“You look a lot like your father, you know. He would have loved to meet you.”

Azzy froze. It was the first time since Denholm Manor's fire that Margaret mentionned her father.

“Do I?” she whispered, and Margaret nodded, a strange smile on her lips.

“I have something for you.” she said, and motioned for her to hold out her hands. She did so, and Margaret let something fall in it. Azzy looked at it curiously.

It was a necklace. It was pretty, bright silver which seemed real, and she noticed with surprise that a little salamander was hanging at the end. It seemed a bit old, but she liked it.

“What's the occasion?” she asked, and Margaret shrugged. Azzy's birthday was in february, and it was strange to receive such a gift in june.

“Nothing in particular. I just wanted to surprise you.”

Azzy said nothing and walked around the table to hug her mother, the necklace held tightly in her hand. Margaret hugged her back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

The dusty and old shop was always avoided by most passerby, but Vincent entered it with ease, a smile on his face.

“Undertaker? Are you here?”

A sudden sound made him turn his head, and a skull rolled until it percuted his foot. Someone else would have been disturbed, but the Earl was far too used to his informant's antics to be fazed by something like this.

“He~ llo Earl! What can I do for you today?”

“Good afternoon, Undertaker. I wanted to ask you something.”

The strange man tilted his head.

“I don't believe that something unusual happened, milord!” he exclaimed, and Vincent smiled.

“No, nothing like that. I'm not here as the Queen's Watchdog, you see.”

Undertaker's smile didn't fall, and he couldn't see his expression, but Vincent thought he looked taken aback for a second.

“Is that so~ then, how may I help you? After what you did last time, I'll even give it for free since it's not for the Queen!”

Vincent didn't blush despite Undertaker's teasing smile, and immediately changed the subject.

“Thank you. I wondered if the name James Murphy was familiar to you?”

Undertaker froze.

He didn't say anything. He just stopped fiddling with his hands and stared at his client. It was the first time Vincent saw him react like this.

“Undertaker?”

His informant seemed to come back to life and laughed, but it sounded strained.

“I don't believe so, Earl! I got lost in my head. My apologies.”

_You're lying_. Vincent thought but didn't say outloud. Instead he smiled politely and nodded.

“What a shame. Thank you for your time, Undertaker.”

He was almost outside when the strange man's voice called back.

“There's some things better left forgotten, Earl. Do be careful!”

The door slammed close. Undertaker frowned.

“How intriguing.”

He walked into the back of his shop and opened a drawer. He took the picture carefully, like it was a precious piece of jewelry. He looked at it for a long time, and slowly repeated, smiling despite himself.

“How very intriguing, indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Undertaker finally appears! I'm pretty sure a lot of you wanted to see him. So? What did you think of him? I hope I managed to write him well. What about Edward and Margaret? What do you think will happen?
> 
> Please share your theories and feelings in the comments!


	10. Chapter 10

Azzy started to really look forward to wednesdays.

Edward was the first friend she had in this life, and she felt giddy everytime they fought and talked together. It was strange at first, since they were so different from each other. Edward was a boy, a noble, and had a rather big family, while Azzy was a girl and a commoner and had no family besides Margaret. They had almost nothing in common.

But they did share something, and it was a desire to learn.

While for Edward it was more a desire to become stronger, it was the same. It was the one thing they aimed for.

For the first days, they simply talked about fencing and running, which was Azzy's main strength and astonished Edward to no end.

“Not even Greenhill has such endurance!” he exclaimed after she outran him once again, eyes sparkling. It seemed that the more she defeated him, the more determined he became. It forced admiration.

It was another thing she liked about Edward: he didn't care that she was a girl. It came as a surprise to be admired by a boy in an era she knew was sexist, but she supposed she shouldn't have been so surprised, given who he and his family were.

They trained and trained until it stared to rain. When it did, they would seek shelter in a nearby bar or alley. Edward had seemed reluctant at first, but it had became a routine to sit and drink before leaving their separate ways.

They started to talk about other things they liked, like books, flowers and sister -for Edward- before cautiously venturing into noble politics as they knew it. Azzy was a bit hesitant, since she knew her views were anormal for this era, but still managed.

“I heard Queen Victoria's arrival changed things in England.”

“Maybe.” Azzy shrugged, “But everything has consequences, and I don't believe in her absolute goodness.”

Edward looked a bit surprised. “Why?”

“Well,” she hesitated, before slowly saying, “Every leader must do dubious things to get results, and no one escapes this rule. There's no smoke without fire and all that stuff.”

Her next comment turned things a bit sour.

“But since your uncle is an evil noble, you know more about it than me, I guess.”

Edward stared, and she realized her mistake once he started to speak.

“Uncle is a what now?”

And that's how Azzy discovered that Edward had no idea what an evil noble was.

To be fair, it wasn't that strange he didn't know it. He was only eleven, and while he knew about it in the manga, he was eighteen by then. And he wasn't a part of this world, not really.

“It's, erm,” she tried to explain, “a noble working underground? Like, with dark society. Your uncle is the Queen's Watchdog, so he's also an evil noble...”

“The Queen's Watchdog?” he repeated, and she wanted to slap herself.

“It's someone who does dirty jobs for the Queen. It's what every Earl Phantomhive does.”

Edward's face became carefully blank at that, and Azzy winced.

A heavy silence fell, only broken by the faraway voices of the passerbys, and she observed with worry her friend's expression.

“Edward?” she asked tentatively, “Are you okay?”

To her absolute horror, Edward started to cry. He was sobbing, even, and his breath came ragged.

“Wait, don't- I mean- _Breathe_!” she loudly whispered when he almost choked on air.

She glanced frantically around her before grabbing their bags and Edward's hand and running outside the bar. Their sudden exit attracted some curious glances, but nobody followed. It was raining heavily, and she led them in an alley hidden from prying eyes.

Azzy examined him. He was still crying, but she noticed that his fists were clenched tightly, and his pale was deadly white.

More than sad, she understood, Edward was angry.

He grabbed his hair and pulled under Azzy's alarmed eyes. She grabbed his hands to stop it and he brutally shoved her away. She tumbled, taken aback by this uncharacteristic gesture, and it was enough to wake him up.

“ _Oh no_ \- I'm sorry, Azz!”

He crumpled next to her, and now they were both sitting on the dirty and wet ground under the rain. It was a rather sad and ridiculous spectacle, but neither cared.

Azzy waved off his worries, and looked at him sharply.

“What was that? I thought you were having a panic attack!”

Edward blinked, looking disoriented, and she immediately felt guilty.

“Sorry. Are you okay?”

Edward stared at her for a moment, and nodded before taking a deep breath.

“Sorry, it's just- now I understand why my sister is trained to fight and why Mother doesn't tell me anything and just. It makes so much sense but it's-”

_Horrible_. His reaction reminded her of when she learned about her father, and she bit her lip.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

“No-” he cut her off, “-I'm... glad to know. Thank you.”

An awkward silence fell, and Azzy patted his shoulder. He looked up, surprised.

“I know what it's like. So, if you want to talk...” she trailed off.

The boy smiled ruefully.

“That's nice of you, Azz, but you already did much. Don't worry about me.”

“I kind of have to, since you're my student and-” she hesitated, “-friend.”

Edward's eyes seemed to sparkle, but he remained quiet and nodded. Azzy looked at their soaked clothes and sighed.

“I think it's time we head home.”

And then, because she didn't want to leave on such a serious note, she added.

“So, since you're calling me Azz and all, I can call you Ed right?”

She laughed when his face became red.

_Maybe, this is going to be alright._

* * *

Margaret hadn't missed her daughter's change.

Azrael was brighter. She had always been a quiet child, still was, but there was something happy about her that wasn't here before. Something almost innocent, but not quiet. It didn't take a genius to understand what happened.

_A friend_. Her shy, asocial daughter had made a friend.

Margaret wasn't sure how to react. On one hand, she was happy: Azrael had always had troubles with other children, and didn't get along with the ones at the clinic. So for her to make a friend was unexpected but welcome. It meant that she was growing up, and moving past what happened at Denholm Manor.

On the other hand, she couldn't help but worry. Her daughter had went out without her permission even though she had trusted her not to. And not only that, she did so to practice her powers when it was the very thing Margaret had told her not to do. And she didn't know who this friend was, and even if they made Azrael happy, it wasn't enough. She needed to know if they paused a threat to her family.

But she couldn't remember the last time she had seen her daughter so peaceful. It hurt, to realize that she couldn't bring this kind of happiness to her. It hurt even more when she realized that Azrael had stopped being cheerful even before the fire, and she still didn't know why.

Margaret sighed, and looked through the window.

_Azrael... What am I going to do?_

* * *

“Mother.”

Frances looked at her son, surprised. His voice sounded cold, and his face was paler than usual. She had heard from the maid that he had come home drenched, but it didn't seem to be only because of that. Something in his eyes had changed, and she tensed despite herself.

“Is there a problem, Edward?”

Her son frowned, and Frances felt something inside her shift. He had inherited Alexis's coloring, but his face, even the way his hair fell on his forehead when wet, were just like _this man_. Even his eyes were similar, though his emerald color was more reminiscent of Alexis.

It shouldn't made her this bitter, but it did.

“Nothing. You just seemed troubled.”

He walked away before she could answer, and she was too surprised to call back.

_Edward isn't acting like himself_. She thought, but she didn't know what to do about it. Frances had never been good with feelings. It ran in the family.

She sighed and turned away.

_He looks like him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Edward and Elizabeth learned about the Watchdog's duty when the Phantomhives died, and didn't know before. So it came as a shock to eleven years old Edward.
> 
> I hope you liked it! What did you think? Who is Frances talking about? What did you think of Azzy and Edward's conversation? Tell me in the comments!


	11. Chapter 11

_October 1883, London_

“Midford?”

“Yes?”

Herman Greenhill frowned, more worried than displeased with his friend's vague answer.

He and Edward Midford were friends more because of their status than any real feeling. Oh, they got along well enough, but that didn't change the facts. They were still good friends despite this, though not particularly close ones.

So when Edward had asked him, months ago, to pretend they passed their afternoons together, he had been surprised- a lot. To lie and deceive wasn't something a gentleman would do, and Greenhill had hesitated at first. But Edward wouldn't do this without a good reason, so he had accepted.

“Are you alright? You seem... troubled.”

That was putting it lightly. He hid it well, but it was undeniable that the younger boy had lost weight. He was paler too, and less bright than he used to be. But there was a light burning in his eyes that wasn't there before, and Greenhill didn't know if this was a good or bad change.

Edward smiled, tired but thankful.

“Thank you for your concern, Greenhill, but you don't have to worry. I just learned some things that upsetted me. I'll be better in no time.”

“If you say so.”

He frowned, but didn't push. Instead he asked.

“And is everything going well with your, ah, “plans”?”

Edward blushed, but Greenhill wasn't mocking him. He was sincerely curious, and hoped his friend succeeded in whatever he was undertaking.

“Well,” Midford whispered, “yes. Very well, actually.”

There was something in this smile, but Greenhill didn't ask.

“Good for you.” he said, and never asked again.

* * *

“I'd like you to come shopping with me.”

Azzy blinked, startled by her mother's unusual request. Margaret looked tired, with bags under her eyes, and there was a severe expression on her face that she hadn't seen since Denholm Manor.

“Did something happen?” she asked, and her mother took on a troubled look which soon morphed into a very fake smile.

“No, I just want us to spend some time together. You don't mind, do you?” and when Azzy took some time to answer, she added in a teasing voice, “Don't tell me you're already into teenage rebellion!”

“Wha- of course not!” she exclaimed, blushing, and Margaret laughed.

They went walking around London all afternoon, and stopped at several shops -of clothes for Margaret and of flowers under Azzy's insistence- before visiting a nearby park.

But even though they spent an overall nice time, Azzy could feel her mother's tension and troubled eyes.

To her surprise, they stopped by Pitt's shop.

“We have an appointment?” she asked, and Margaret blinked.

“You do.” she said, and opened the shop's door.

Pitt's cheerful face came to greet them. Azzy had seen him a few times over the years, but the evil noble never seemed to change. Her unease had decreased after speaking a bit to him, but she was still wary and often let her mother lead the conversation.

“Hi there!” he said upon seeing them, “Glad to see you again, Maggie. How are you, little Murphy?” he asked Azzy, who blinked.

“I'm fine. You?”

Margaret sent her a disapproving glance, but he only laughed at her bluntness.

“Good, good! So, who is it today?” he turned towards Margaret, who sighed but smiled.

“Just her.”

Azzy frowned. It was a bit strange of Margaret not to warn her in advance when they went to visit Pitt. It was the first time she went with her casual clothes, without her mother insisting to dress well.

Pitt nodded and motionned at her to sit on the chair.

“Well then, let's do this!”

Just before the flash, Azzy saw her mother look away, as if it pained her to watch her child smiling at the camera.

* * *

Four days later and Azzy was getting awfully irritated.

It was obvious that Margaret wanted to tell her something, or was waiting for her to say it, but instead of asking like a normal person, she decided to drag her daughter to the clinic with her.

It was already strange since Margaret knew that Azzy was afraid of the grim reapers sometimes wandering the hallways (even if she hadn't told her they were reapers), but she even refused to let her stay when wednesday came and she asked. So Azzy had to hastily write a letter to Edward and hide it in their meeting spot, hoping it wouldn't rain and ruin the paper.

Needless to say, she wasn't happy, and eventually snapped when thursday came.

“What did I do to make you angry?!” she hissed, and Margaret grimaced as if she was the one punished without reason.

“That's not it. I just want to keep an eye on you-”

“You're lying.” Azzy interrupted, and feeling angrier, added, “You're _always_ lying!”

Margaret looked taken aback by this violent outburst, but Azzy didn't feel like stopping. It seemed like those months of questions and sadness suddenly broke free and spilled away from her. Azzy's patience had fell short.

“You- you're always saying you'll tell me later when you just keep your secrets! You never answer my questions, as if I'm too stupid to understand a thing!”

“You're too young-” Margaret tried to say, like she hadn't listened to a single word.

“I'm not.” Azzy hissed, “It's not that I'm young, it's just that you're a _coward_.”

Margaret flinched, and her eyes hardened. Azzy continued.

“You don't want to admit that we're weird, that you were an evil noble-”

“How do you know-”

“You keep telling me to stop playing with fire-”

“What if you get caught-”

“You don't want to admit that i'm different, that I can control fire. You just think I'm a _freak_ -”

A violent slap. Azzy blinked, head tilted, her cheek stinging. Margaret's face was livid.

“Don't.” she whispered, but didn't say anything else.

They stared at each other for a long time. Slowly, Azzy turned away, heading to her bedroom. Margaret didn't stop her, and the _click!_ of the door behind her was deafening.

Margaret sank to the floor, and buried her head in her hands.

* * *

“ _I don't want to do that.”_

“ _He's your family. Surely, you can try, at least a few times? Just for me, please.”_

“ _. . . Just a few times. If I don't want to come anymore, I won't, and you can't force me.”_

_She sighed at the phone, and hung up._

_She got out of the building. It was a bright day that didn't match her grim mood, and she sat on a banch feeling tired._

“ _What a stupid idea.” she whispered to herself, frowning. Her mother was so naive, and she wished she could just turn her back, but her conscience wouldn't allow it._

“ _Maybe I'm the stupide one.” she mumbled, and an amused voice startled her._

“ _You don't really look stupid.”_

_The boy was staring at her, amused, and she blushed. He sat next to her and said._

“ _May I ask what bothers you so much?”_

“ _That's really none of your business.” she stated coldly, and he laughed._

“ _Eh. I guess that's true. Still-” he added with a kind smile “-if you want to rant, I can listen. People says I'm good at it.”_

“ _How kind of you.” she said, but she was smiling._

_And then they weren't in the park anymore. They were in a dark room, and she was lying on her stomach, and she couldn't breath and it hurt. The boy was looking at her, panicked, shaking her slightly and screaming into the phone._

“ _She's bleeding, hurry-”_

_**Oh**. she thought. She tried to grab the boy's hand, to reassure him, but she couldn't move. She felt numb, yet her back hurt too much._

_I'm sorry. She tried to say, but she didn't have the breath for it anymore._

_**I'm sorry.** _

* * *

Azzy woke up feeling cold. She didn't scream, and stayed in her bed, silent. She sat up and stared at her hands for a long time.

“I died.” she said, and the words felt heavy on her tongue, “I died.” she repeated, and it didn't change anything.

She lied on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“He killed me.” she said, and it took a moment to realize that she was crying.

_He killed_ _me_. She thought again. It was the first time since her death she dared to think about it.

But the boy was safe, she remembered, and it almost made her smile.

_I was killed_ , she thought, and bit her lip, _but like hell I'll let it happen again._

* * *

“Elizabeth.”

“Yes, mother?”

Frances's face was stoic, but Elizabeth knew her mother well enough to notice the worry in her eyes.

“Something seems to be bothering Edward. Do you know what that is?”

The girl blinked, surprised. She hadn't noticed any change, but it had been a while since her and Edward spent time together. Elizabeth tended to pass her days at Phantomhive Manor with Ciel.

She felt guily and frowned slightly before answering.

“No, he didn't say a thing.”

Frances nodded and left under her daughter's curious gaze. Elizabeth's frown deepened, and she looked at her plush before smiling.

_I'll ask him to train with me. Hopefully he'll tell me if something is bothering him!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Azzy is slowly facing her past and trauma. That's good. Probably. And hey- first family fight! Isn't that great?
> 
> What did you think?


	12. Chapter 12

_Wednesday February 13, 1884_

Margaret and Azzy's relationship had became tense, to say the least.

Neither talked about their conversation, and neither apologized or said they were wrong or sorry. It was the first fight they ever had, and Azzy wasn't sure how to act.

She didn't want to apologize, because what she said was true. Margaret always said she'd explain but never did, and when Azzy tried to keep her own secrets, her mother acted as if she was entitled to know when she didn't even bother to explain her past.

Maybe her anger was a bit too much, but Azzy was tired of trying for a mother who didn't try in return. She had done the same, back then, and it had been what caused her death. Mothers who didn't bother to listen, who said they knew better.

( _“He's your family. Surely, you can try...”_ )

( _It hurts it HURTS IT HURTS STOP STOPSTOP **STOP** -_)

She frowned and bit her lip until blood was drawn. It had became a habit to do that when she felt nervous or stressed, and she couldn't stop even when it hurts once it scarred and she ate. There was always too much salt in her food, but she guessed it was a 19th century thing and didn't want to sound weird.

She sighed and entered the café where she and Edward usually met before training. There wasn't a lot of people, and the bartender nodded at her when she waved. It was routine, and it calmed her a bit, to see some things didn't change.

She sat at their usual table in the back, far from prying eyes and near the backdoor. The old bartender handed her a glass of hot chocolate and Azzy took it with a sad smile. It was still early in the morning, and there wasn't a lot of customers.

She waited a few minutes before she caught sight of her friend approaching. Edward sat silently, breath a bit ragged like he had ran to get there in time.

“Hello Azz.” he said, smiling as he took off his coat, “Sorry I'm late. Elizabeth wanted to talk and since it's been some time...”

“Don't worry about it.” Azzy reassured him, “I'm glad you and your sister are getting along.”

Edward grimaced, and she sent him a questionning glance.

“It's nothing.” he mumbled, “I just had a disagreement with Mother.”

Azzy couldn't help but snort. “That's rough, buddy.”

She laughed when seeing his face, and added, “Good to see I'm not the only one with family troubles.”

Edward frowned. “You still aren't talking? It's been months.”

Azzy chose not to answer and instead asked, an eyebrow raised.

“What about your mother? I didn't think you had any problem with her.”

At least none she could remember from the manga, besides that one time in Funtom Music Hall. She smiled thinking about it.

Edward sighed, frowning.

“I think she knows that I know about the Watchdog's duty. At least more than I should. She said I've been quieter. More reserved than usual, things like that. I guess she's right.”

“Oh.” Azzy whispered. She frowned.

Edward was younger than in the manga, twelve and only a year older than her, and it was hard to remember that the boy in front of her would one day be the character she followed in her past. The boy who met her behind his parents's back every wednesday, who trained and ran with her even in the cold of winter, would one day be the young gentleman who fought against zombies and sang his sister's praises. She had a hard time connecting the two.

She wasn't sure what to think about it, and Edward noticed her conflicted expression.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No... I just got lost in thoughts. I'm sorry about your mother, I shouldn't have laughed. It must be hard.”

Edward shrugged, “Not really. Mother isn't the kind of person to pry unless she thinks it's really bad, so it should be alright.”

Azzy nodded, and Edward suddenly beamed at her. He started to dig into his bag and, upon seeing her confusion, said.

“I have something for you!”

He took out a beautiful red cloth, and he put it on the table with an embarrassed smile. Upon further inspection, Azzy realized that the cloth was in fact a rather big scarf, big enough to cover her shouders and back.

She looked at Edward, who blushed.

“Happy Birthday?” he said hesitantly. He waited for her reaction anxiously.

She stroked the wool slowly, as if afraid to tear it, and smiled, her cheeks flushed. She looked at Edward, eyes shining.

“It's amazing. Thank you, Ed.”

Edward's face became beet red.

* * *

Hours later, once they finished training, Azzy went back to the cafe to drink something before running to her apartment. She wasn't in a hurry, and she wasn't looking forward to explain how she got this brand new scarf which stood out on her black clothes.

The bartender caught sight of her expression and laughed. Azzy sent him a surprised look, and he smiled.

“A day early, isn't it?” he whispered with conspiracy. Azzy blinked owlishly, but the old man was already gone.

_What the hell_ , she thought, before shrugging. It wasn't important anyways.

She emptied her glass and left.

* * *

Margaret arrived later than usual, but Azzy didn't dare to comment on it. Her mother looked tired, and troubled, and she realized with dread that she couldn't remember a time where her mother hadn't looked tired.

To her surprise, Margaret sat in front of her in the kitchen where she was reading a book.

“I think it's high time we talk, right?”

Azzy nodded and closed her book. Margaret watched her with a sad smile.

“I can't believe that you're already eleven.” she whispered, “You grew up so quickly...”

“I can't tell you everything.” she eventually said after seconds of silence, “And you don't have to tell me everything too. But I want you to know that you can trust me, okay? I know I'm not the best mother, maybe not even a good one, but I'm _trying_ , and I love you.”

“I...” Azzy said, “I'm not a really good daughter either. And I think you're doing pretty well, considering...” she waved to show the mess that was their life, and Margaret laughed.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She frowned, and licked her lips. She put a huge and old book on the table, and Azzy blinked, surprised.

“This is your present. I'm pretty sure what you want most is answers.”

She pushed the book towards her, and Azzy opened it. It was old, and looked like it could crumble in her hands, but it was well taken care of. There wasn't any dust on it.

Inside it was a bunch of pictures. Margaret pointed at one of them and said.

“This is your grandfather, James Murphy.”

The man in the picture looked tired. He was dressed in a simple black suit, and held hands with a little girl who couldn't be more than four, wearing a white dress. They both had dark hair and eyes so clear that they seemed to gleam in the black and white picture.

“It was in 1858, I think. I don't remember it well. Dad wasn't here often, and I was mostly raised by the others servants and Lady Phantomhive.”

“Lady Phantomhive.” Azzy repeated flatly, mind reeling.

“Countess Claudia Phantomhive, yes.” Margaret nodded, “She was the Queen's Watchdog, took care of the illegals things when Scotland Yard couldn't.”

“Is that so?” Azzy said shakily, still stuck on the fact that _her mother knew Claudia Phantomhive_ , the biggest mystery of Black Butler.

“Your grandfather was doing a job for her.” Margaret continued, not realizing the real cause of her daughter's shock, “I don't know what exactly, but I know it included things humans shouldn't know about.”

This sentence got her out of her torpor, and Azzy asked.

“Like dad?”

Margaret grimaced. “Among things.”

She didn't clarify, and Azzy bit her lip to keep from asking.

“I... don't know what happened exactly. I was around seven, and I didn't know about evil nobles and my father's work. My best guess is that he got caught or something. I was captured later on and I saw him die. It was-”

She stopped. Azzy was burning with curiosity, but Margaret stayed silent. Finally, she concluded.

“I managed to escape. I left the Phantomhives and Doctor Reeve took me in. I went to Denholm Manor when I was twelve. I had you when I was nineteen.”

Azzy knew that, because having a child at nineteen while unmarried wasn't exactly usual and well seen, a bit like in her past life. It was sad to see that some judgments didn't disappear even with time.

“What about my father? When did you meet him?”

Margaret paused, looking amused for a second. “It depends on what you mean by 'meet'.”

Azzy sent her a confused look, but Margaret talked before she could say anything.

“Can I ask you questions? You don't have to answer if you're really uncomfortable.”

Azzy hesitated, but nodded. Her mother's question wasn't what she expected.

“The beings in the clinic, the ones I can't see. What are they?”

It took her a while to understand who she was talking about.

“Oh, them. They're Grim Reapers. They come for the soul.”

Margaret looked taken aback, but kept asking, “Do you know how they work? What do they do exactly?”

“Erm.” this really wasn't what she expected, “They watch the dead's cinematic records and decide if they're worthy of living or if they can't give anything to the world.”

“Cinematic records.” Margaret repeated the unfamiliar term, “What is it?”

“It's someone's memories. Their whole life.”

Margaret froze.

“They can see our whole life? Without any secrets?”

“Yes?” Azzy answered, surprised by her mother's reaction.

A strange silence settled, and Margaret turned bright eyes towards her daughter.

“Is there a way to keep them from seeing it?”

Azzy frowned, thinking back on what she knew from the manga.

“I think,” she slowly said, “that if the corpse is burned to ashes, the records are destroyed. But I'm not sure.”

Margaret was still tense. Azzy sent her a worried look, and her mother smiled, though she looked uneasy.

“Thank you. Also, Azrael.” her eyes sharpened, “I noticed you were having nightmares. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” was her immediate reply, and she sighed.

“Very well. I'm here if you need me, treasure. I'll let you look at the album, okay?”

She left the kitchen under her daughter's bemused eyes.

Azzy frowned and looked at the pictures. James and Margaret were in most, standing side by side.

_They really look alike_ , she thought, faintly jealous. She turned a few pages and her heart sank.

In a picture that seemed to be ones of the oldest, James Murphy was standing side by side with a beautiful woman and a man dressed in black. This man's eyes were hidden behind his grey hair, and his smile was both goofy and sharp. He looked kind if a bit weird, but Azzy knew he could kill her in a second. Seeing him in a picture felt like a punch in the guts.

The Undertaker stood next to James Murphy like an old friend would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I can't celebrate since I'm confined, but I hope you have a nice day despite everything. So? You guys have any theories? I hope you liked it!


	13. Chapter 13

_December 1884_

“Brother? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course! What is it?”

Elizabeth smiled at her brother's immediate reply, pleased. She looked at him curiously, an innocent expression on her face as she asked.

“Is there anything bothering you? You've been acting rather strangely since...”

Since a while, but she couldn't remember when it started exactly. Elizabeth had been busy, training harshly with her mother before going to spend the day with her fiance. She just realized one day when waking up that her brother hadn't been at her side as much as he used to for at least a few months. That was when she remembered her mother's questions months ago, and tried to bond with her brother in hopes of learning what had changed.

(She didn't want to admit that it took her so long to notice her brother's absence.)

“Oh.” Edward said, frowning slighlty. That, too, was new. Edward didn't frown or grimace when he was with her -except when Ciel was there- and always smiled even when it was fake. He had smiled when she defeated him in their first fight, and he had smiled when she had won her first match. For his little sister, he always smiled, even if it made him seem a little faker each time he did so.

But he wasn't forcing a smile for her here, and she didn't know what to make of it.

“Mother has been worried.” she eventually said when the silence became awkward.

(When did talking to her older brother became so complicated?)

“Is that so.” Edward whispered, and to her stupor, he let out a mocking laugh. It was so unlike the gentlemanly brother she knew that Elizabeth stared with wide eyes and a open mouth.

“Brother!” she exclaimed, and it seemed to bring him back to his senses. He blushed, sheepish.

“I'm sorry Lizzy. I'm just more tired than usual.”

“I- Are you certain? Did something happen? You can tell me, you know! I can keep secrets.”

Seeing him hesitate, she added hastily.

“Like when you broke Father's window, or when we hid chocolates in our rooms! It'd be our secret, promise!”

Elizabeth didn't know why she suddenly felt the need to know what her brother was hiding. A strange pit was forming in her stomach, and it felt a bit too much like dread and irritation.

But already Edward was shaking his head with a small smile -smile! He smiled!- and said gently.

“Nothing is bothering me, and I'm not hiding anything, so don't worry!”

But he blinked too much when saying this, and she knew it was a sign he was lying. But she didn't call him out on it. She forced a smile and hugged him.

“I'm glad to hear it!”

Her brother hugged her back, and she wondered if this was her imagination or if it felt colder than it used to be.

_But then,_ whispered a treacherous in her mind _, you never cared enough before to notice it, did you?_

He left with a smile, and Elizabeth watched her brother's back, feeling emptier than usual.

* * *

“It's going to be a tradition, isn't it.”

Margaret laughed at her daughter's deadpan question, and Azzy groaned. Pitt laughed too from where he was adjusting his device, a playful smile on his face.

They had came at his shop so many times that if Azzy had been an actual child, she would probably think he was her uncle or something. As it was now, he was more like the weird family friend they couldn't get rid of.

“Don't be so grumpy, Little Murphy!” he exclaimed, “Family Pictures are great! I'm sure you'll agree once you're older.”

“Sure.” she said coldly, ignoring Margaret's sigh.

_At least we didn't have to dress up_ , she thought with relief. Azzy really hated victorian dresses and how needlessly complicated they were. Plain dress -or better, pants- suited her just fine.

She glanced at the photographer. He was as joyful as ever, and no matter how hard she looked, he seemed completely normal, like he wasn't an evil noble who helped the Queen's Watchdog in his less than legal activities. It was a bit scary to realize she would never have known without her memories.

She frowned, hands gripping her pants. Thoughts had been roaming her head for a while, when she first realized what year it was, and what it meant.

_In one year_ , she mused, _the Phantomhive Family will be attacked_.

She had troubles undertsanding the reality of this situation, but Pitt was a painful reminder that it wasn't a story anymore, that real people, children, would walk through hell and never really come back. That a family would be destroyed, broken, and all that would lead to the death of many people.

All that, in one year from now on, and Azzy knew it.

Margaret and Pitt's voices drifted in the back ground, unheard. All she could think of was the twins, little boys who should be around nine. Children who were innocent, who didn't deserve what was coming for them.

No one deserved it. Dying wasn't nice, or quick, or painless, or whatever some people liked to say to reassure themselves.

She knew it well.

Her mother sat next to her, looked at her and Azzy smiled shakily. She tried to force any thought of death and twins out of her mind.

* * *

It didn't work.

Several hours, after trying and failing to sleep, Azzy groaned and got on her feet. It was night, and since it was friday night, she was alone in the apartment.

She walked in circles, the old and wooden floor cracking slightly under her steps. The moon was shining outside, but not enough to light up the kitchen still in the dark. So Azzy took out her box of matches, the one she always carried around despite Margaret's warnings, and lit one up.

The flame was a comfort, and she kept her eyes on it as she sat on one of the chairs, elbows on the table. She grabbed the flame and let it dance in her palms without trying to make it bigger, content with observing it.

_In one year_ , she thought once again, _the Phantomhive Family will be attacked_.

And she could stop it.

It would be easy, really. She would just go see Pitt on a day where Margaret was busy at the clinic. The photographer liked her well enough to keep the secret and warn the Phantomhives without anyone knowing it was her who sounded the alarm. They would be ready.

_But it's not that simple, though_ , she frowned.

Because, if the warning did reach the family and actually worked, there would be questions.

Who gave the information? How did they know? Why did they help? What else did they know? And so on. There was no guarantee that Pitt would keep quiet if Earl Phantomhive himself asked.

And Azzy, perhaps selfishly, didn't know if it was worth it. If saving this blood-stained family was worth risking losing her own family, her second chance.

After all, if she stayed silent, out of the way, it would end eventually, right? She could live a normal life, without having to worry about demons and grim reapers.

_I guess it's a bit too late for that though_ , she thought ruefully, staring at the small flame in her hands.

She clenched her fists and the flame disappeared.

Azzy went back to her room, still frowning. She opened a drawer of her dresser and grabbed the album her mother gave her for her birthday. It had been months, but she looked through it every day.

After her initial shock upon seeing the Undertaker in a picture, she realized he wasn't only in one. The grim reaper was in a bunch of them, the oldest ones from when Margaret was just a baby or not even born yet.

Azzy wasn't sure what to think of this, and she knew after asking her that Margaret was clueless about who the Undertaker was. Which made him another potential threat, especially if she warned the Phantomhives about the incoming attack.

Really, it would be easier to keep quiet about all this mess.

_But the kids_ , said the treacherous voice of her conscience, _what about the kids?_

_They're going to be assholes anyway,_ she argued _, only troubles and horrible stuff. And if I don't do a thing I won't have to deal with Vincent Phantomhive and the Undertaker. Probably._

She let herself fall on her bed, trying to sleep, but the voice kept whispering.

_The kids, though, they don't deserve something like that._

She tried to ignore it, but then an even worst thought flashed in her mind.

_What would Edward think?_

Azzy buried her head into the pillow and groaned.

_Damn it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm sorry for the wait. Things have been hectic with school and covid-19. Everything is a mess. The updates may take a bit longer, sorry again. I hope you guys are all alright despite everything.
> 
> I also hope you liked it! What do you think? What will Azzy do? Tell me in the comments!


	14. Chapter 14

_June 1885_

“Wanna go to my apartment?”

Edward stared blankly at Azzy, before blushing furiously. The cafe was noiser than usual, and the weather awfully hot. A lot of people came here to drink something -often alcohol- before going on with their day.

Edward looked at her wide-eyed before stammering.

“That's not- well- I mean, it's not proper!”

Azzy raised an eyebrow.

“We've been meeting and training together in secret for two years, Ed. I'm pretty sure we're way past what is considered proper now.”

If anything, this made Edward become even redder. Azzy frowned but didn't say anything. Inviting her friend was something she wanted to do for a while now, and after two tears of seeing each other behind their parents' back, she thought it was normal to do so. But maybe Edward didn't agree.

Maybe he didn't trust her. The idea made her feel weird, and it must have been obvious because Edward's eyes widened and he hastily said.

“I mean- Well, going to your home would be great! But what if we get caught?”

Azzy hesitated and drank a bit of her water, grimacing. She missed clean water from her pat life, but she had to live with it.

“My mother already knows I'm meeting someone- she doesn't know it's _you_!” she added upon seeing Edward's worried eyes, “She just knows I sneak out to see someone. She probably doesn't even know you're a boy. Probably.”

Edward frowned, but slowly nodded his head. Azzy beamed, and he smiled too.

“The road is a bit long, around forty-five minutes? Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Edward stayed quiet a moment, and said, “I'm curious to see your home anyway, and we have time.”

They left the cafe together.

* * *

“Are you sure no one saw us?”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop worrying so much, will you? I doubt anyone would recognize you even if we're caught.”

Edward cautiously entered the apartment, taking in everything he saw. He looked uneasy, and hesitated before speaking.

“It looks nice.” he said, and Azzy sent him a grin.

“Nothing against your manor, I bet?” he blushed, indignant, and Azzy laughed, “I'm just teasing you! You don't have to be so nervous.”

It was a bit awkward, she supposed. In the two years they had known each other, their social status had always been avoided as subject of conversation. It never really came up. After all, they weren't friends at first, but partners for training. Azzy wondered when they had crossed that line.

But seening where she lived was a reminder for Edward that they should have never been associated together. They should have never talked as equals, a commoner and a noble, a girl and a boy. It wasn''t proper, or normal.

It was a good thing they didn't care anymore.

They went to the kitchen and Azzy dug out two glasses. She glanced around and grinned.

“I could probably find Mom's alcohol stash.”

“We're _thirteen_.” Edward said sternly.

“I'm still twelve, actually.” she retorted.

“That makes it even worse!”

Azzy was just saying it to tease him. She had never been a huge fan of alcohol anyway, and didn't miss it that much. And finding Margaret's alcohol stash would probably take a lot of time, knowing her mother.

So she just grabbed the water jug and sat down. She stared at her glass before saying.

“There's something I wanted to show you, actually.”

She quickly got up and left to her room. She came back with a book under her arm.

“Look.” she said, and Edward opened it with a frown that deepened as he looked through the pictures.

“That's my grandmother.” he constated, pointing at a picture, and Azzy nodded.

“And my grandfather.”

He stared some more. Azzy let him, because she knew how it felt to see something so weird that you had to look longer than usual to make sure you weren't dreaming.

When he looked up, his face was pale.

“That's an incredible coincidence, Azz.” he eventually whispered, “It must be destiny, or fate.”

“Or just a coincidence.” Azzy said, but she didn't believe it. “What do you think about it? Mom said James -that's my granddad's name, by the way- used to work for your grandmother, but she was still a kid so she doesn't know what he was doing exactly.”

_Beyond the fact it was something supernatural._ She decided to leave that part out. One revelation at a time.

“I-” Edward frowned, “I don't know much about her, to be honest.”

“Really? I thought nobles were really proud of their ancestry and stuff.”

“They are.” he agreed, and he seemed irritated. “I know about my father's lineage, but my mother has always been quiet about hers. It's the same with Uncle Vincent. I don't even know my grandfather's name!”

Azzy had been expecting it, since Ciel didn't know either in the manga, but it was still strange.

“So you don't know anything?” she asked, trying to keep the disappointment off her voice.

“I could try to ask questions?” he offered, but she shook her head.

“They would ask how you know about James Murphy, and I don't fancy seeing your family.”

Edward stared at her, and it took a second for Azzy to realize how terribly rude she must have sounded.

“No offense! Just. Well.”

She stammered, searching for reasons until her friend sighed.

“I get it. I don't really want to see your mother either, that would be awkward.”

Azzy was fairly sure they weren't thinking of the same kind of awkward -hers included blood- but didn't say anything.

“Do you get along well with your family?” she asked, out of curiosity.

“Mostly? Things between Mother and I have been slightly cold, but it's better now.”

“What about the Phantomhives?”

Edward's expression soured. Azzy sent him a questionning glance, and he sighed.

“They're fine. But Ciel is so arrogant, and he's engaged to Lizzy.” he said that like it was a worst crime than murder, and she hid a smile, “Besides, it's a bit strange to look at Uncle when I know he's an evil noble, and that I'm not supposed to know it.”

“But you love them.”

The sentence escaped Azzy before she could stop it. Edward paused, but nodded.

“Yes, of course. They're family.”

Azzy stared, a million thoughts in her head.

_They're going to die._

_They're going to die, and your cousin will cause so much grief and death, and you won't notice until it's too late, until your dear little sister's heart is torn apart and you're too late to save it because you're not enough. You'll never be enough._

Edward smiled at her, a thirteen years old boy with a bright smile who had made his place in her stubborn heart, and she wanted to scream.

_Your love won't change anything. It won't save them. It's useless. Love is useless._

“I see.” she said.

_You can't save them._

( _But I can._ )

* * *

Margaret frowned and glanced at her daughter's form, hidden under her blanket.

“I'm going to bed, sweetheart. Do you want something?”

Azzy shook her head. Margaret raised an eyebrow, but walked out of the room.

She stopped at the door, looked back, and said with a sly smile.

“By the way, Azrael, the next time you bring a boy home, I'd like to be informed beforehand. Good night dear!”

Azzy choked on air, and she left cackling.

* * *

Hours later, Azzy laid awake at night. It had became a habit.

It was june, and in december the attack will happen. She had a few months to take her decision, to think about it and all. But really, she had made her decision upon seeing Edward's smile when talking about them.

She looked at the ceiling, and sighed.

_They better make Ed happy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hope you liked it! I loved reading your opinions on the last chapter. What do you think will happen? Things will finally start to move next chapter, so be ready!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, so please tell me if there are any mistakes. Did you like it ? Tell me in the comments !


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